Male Appreciation of Theodore Nott
by Running Like Yesterday- Slowly
Summary: Chance encounters with Theodore Nott


**AN:** This is part of the 'Male Appreciation Challenge'. I was given Theodore Nott. I liked working with a lesser known character. I wanted to create a more in depth past, so this hopefully does that. More to come.

(Also, first non-slash/lemony fanfic)

Excited students walked the aisles of the Hogwarts Express that was just beginning to pick up speed. This time was particularly hard to navigate in due to the high density of bodies collected the whole way along the train. Students who had not already found a compartment to sit in either fretted with having to share with other people, or luck out and find an empty one with their friends.

Theodore Nott was apart from this shared emotion as he was already sitting in a compartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. The Slytherin boy wasn't a highly organised or punctual person, it just so happened that he had arrived early and found no need to linger with all of the other departing families. Partly because his family wasn't the type to get emotional over... anything, especially not their son, but mostly because he found his own way to platform nine and three-quarters, due to the fact that his mother had passed away when he was young, and his father was withering away in a cell in Azkaban. A few months prior to that moment in time, his father had been outed as a Deatheater by Harry Potter and his gang. While Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy all swore to make him pay, Theodore somewhat thanked Harry.

His father had been a Deatheater since before Theodore could remember. His mother had always been against the notion and, though not technically what was seen as a good person in the eyes of the Wizarding world, she continually tried to convince him to give up and they'd run away together.

Soon enough that became more difficult with an addition to the family; Theodore had become a sort of lead weight, anchoring them to a fixed location. No longer could his mother dream about packing up and running for the hills, applying every spell in the book to conceal their tracks, for no one left the service of He Who Must Not Be Named without glazed over eyes and cold skin. And so Theodore was raised in the most unconventional of ways, with a secret second life as the son of a homicidal maniac, yet things were similar to some muggles he attended school with while he grew up; their fathers were strict and controlling, always disappointed, and their mothers were caring and always there to patch up the emotion wounds caused by their fathers.

Once his mother died, it was just Theodore and his father. Soon Theodore fully came to terms with what being a Deatheater entitled when being introduced to the Wizarding world. He promptly took up his mother's unfinished work in convincing his father to leave that world behind, he could take care of himself while he finished with his education and his father could run until it were safe for him to re-emerge. His father began to consider it, yet didn't see how pressing it was due to the Dark Lord's dormancy over the years; Theodore only really knew of his father's continued allegiance when he would disappear for a night once in awhile to plot with other Deatheaters.

All hope was lost upon the Dark Lord's grand re-entrance into the world of the living just before Theodore was about to finish his fourth year. Apparently his father's flame was sparked anew and he told his son sternly that he would not be persuaded against following his master into battle. Thankfully Harry and his friends had discovered what was going on and had the majority of them arrested, including his father, and sent to Azkaban. Though it wasn't the optimal outcome he wished for his father, Theodore preferred the thought of him being kept out of harm's way than becoming another casualty in the battle for supremacy between the Dark Lord and the rest of the world. And as horrible as the thought of having your happiness sucked out of you by foul creatures daily and nightly, Theodore believed in his father's strength, and one day he would help break him out of Azkaban; it had been done before, it could be done again.

And so, due to Theodore's incidental punctuality, he sat alone in a compartment in amongst the overlap of the collection of compartments unofficially designated to the Slytherins and those to the Ravenclaws.

_Practical Applications of Potion containing Withering Weed_ was a large book spread open on his lap that he had purchased for wide reading in an attempted to better his already good grades in Potions; his favourite subject. It was not for the favoured treatment provided by Snape (though it wouldn't be as enjoyable without it) nor was it because he was naturally good at it, Theodore enjoyed Potions because it was different to all the other magical disciplines. Though Divination provided a more... imaginative view on magic, and History of Magic was a heavily theoretical subject, Potions was different. There were no fancy wands or tricky spells to remember, it was about feeling what was right at that moment, and though Snape always spoke about the "precise and exact art" of Potions making, Theodore felt like it had more area for creative manipulation than his professor let on. Potions was the most hands on you could get without breaching the Care of Magical Creatures area, and upon discovering that those freaky things that pulled the carriages to the castle were for Theodore's eyes only, he turned his back on magical creatures for good.

So Theodore smiled at the pages of ingredients and instructions on memory potions and elixirs for sore muscles, his eyes scanning the words in black, frilly letters that filled his mind with a knowledge he loved more than all of his other subjects. So engrossed was he in the stiff yellowed pages of the book that he almost didn't notice the door sliding open and a gaggle of giggling girls spill in and jolting to a stop on the threshold upon noticing its occupancy.

Before any of them could notice, Theodore dropped his smile and return to his default, stoic expression, and to remain composed, he did not look up straight away as if seeming interested, he waited until they had all come to a stop, before calmly turning his head sideways in their directly. Not a word left his mouth, yet turning toward them prompted the first girl to say, "Sorry, we didn't realised there was someone here." And with that, they left, closing the door and erupting into laughter at the embarrassment on the face of the girl who had spoken to Theodore.

Though he'd never admit it aloud, Theodore wouldn't have minded terrible much if the pack of Ravenclaw girls had of stayed; although he would have continued to read, ignoring them completely and not acknowledging his contentment with their presence, he would have liked the background chatter to break the muffled silence that encompassed his slender form.

Throughout the trip, many people walked past Theodore's compartment, peering in to see a nerdy little boy, too boring to have fun with the friends he wished he had, before realising it was the scary, silent Slytherin boy who, confusingly, was reading a book.

Theodore kept up his frightening and intimidating sixth year Slytherin act not because he wanted to scare people off, or to impress people like Malfoy, but because that's who he was.

His lack of social skills meant that he wasn't very good at joining in conversation. While other children were playing with their parents to learn the life skills of communication, Theodore was being apparated between his own house to his aunt and uncle's during particularly frightful Deahteater times. This meant people thought he was snobbish and rude when he found it difficult to converse.

His lack of confidence made it difficult to make friends. While the other kids received gold stickers and never-ending praise from their family, Theodore had lost his only source of comfort to Death, while his father told him about his life as a Deatheater once he finished with school because a career in Potions is foolish. This meant that Theodore was unable to make his own friends, and just fell into sync with the Slytherin crowd, and they made friends with him without having to try.

His quiet nature made it hard to correct assumptions like these. While other kids fought from conversational dominance in the play ground, learning that the louder you were, the better it was, Theodore was pushed behind his mother's purple, flowing, floor-length skirt at secret Deatheater meetings being conducted in his own living room. This meant he just sat idly by as those he wished he had the confidence to talk to spread rumours about his arrogance, obnoxiousness and standoffish nature.

These factors all combined to form an avoidable character that he wished he wasn't. While he had stared at those girls stopped in the door way, a million thoughts rushed through the cells of his mind, trying to find the best way to phrase an invitation into his compartment, yet he just continued to tell himself of how stupid he sounded. Eventually they assumed he was angry at them, and so they left, like most people did.

Theodore turned back to his book, assuming that the word had spread that there was a 'mean-looking boy' in the compartment between to Ravenclaws and Slytherins, meaning he wouldn't be disrupted from his reading again. Mistaken was he, the compartment door slid open and in shuffled an older man in an extremely tight fitting, green double-breasted vest, with matching floor-length coat and pants.

The cushions sighed loudly as he sat down on the opposite seat next to the door that he shut behind him. "Hope you don't mind me joining you young man," he chuckled as he took a liquorice wand from a brown paper bag in his pocket and took a bite.

Theodore answered by saying "Not at all, it was just reading this book about potions," in his mind, but by the time he said it out loud, he was cut off by the stranger, meaning his reply was a cold and unwelcoming nothing.

"You may not remember me, Theodore; I'm Mr Slughorn, well Professor Slughorn now. I'm an old friend of your fathers. Yes we go way back..." Slughorn's eyes drifted off into the dark corners of the compartment's ceiling as he took another bite of his liquorice wand and thought of the years he had known the young boy's father.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Though Theodore had meant to say "you must be the replacement for Professor Umbridge in Defence Aginst the Dark Arts," all that came out was another rude reply.

"No, m'boy," he laughed as if it were hilarious that he taught such a subject, "if my observations are correct," he gestured to the book open in Theodore's lap, "I'll be your new Potions Master. Interested in Potions making are we?"

Being presented with the opportunity to discuss his passion with a teacher that seemed actually interested was too good to be true, Theodore couldn't help keeping the sparkle out of his eyes as he replied, "it's my favourite subject, it's my best subject."

"And is this a book you're reading?"

"It's very interesting."

"Ah," Slughorn exclaimed excitedly as he rose to open the compartment door. A young girl stopped as some stranger stopped her to say, "Ms Granger, I've heard so much about you, and that talented mind of yours. I was just setting out to find you and Mr Potter when I ran into an old friend's son. Why don't you join us for a moment, dear?"

Hermione looked in at the boy she knew as Nott, yet had very little to do with over the five years she had spent at Hogwarts. Although Gryffindors and Slytherins were polar opposites, they seemed to have many run-ins due to their legendary rivalry of their founders. This being said, Nott didn't seem like the brute force type, so remained on the boundaries of clashed, resulting in a lack of contact with people outside of his friendship group.

"Um..." was all Hermione could muster.

"Oh, how foolish of me not to introduce myself; I'm Professor Slughorn, I'll be teaching Potions at Hogwarts." Though Hermione seemed confused at the rearrangement of the teaching staff, she simply sat herself, reluctantly, in the compartment on the same side as Theodore, opposite this man as close to the door as possible. "I met Mr Potter over the holidays and he told me all about how you're at the top of your classes and being a muggle-born and all makes it stranger still."

Hermione noticeably tensed at the mention of her magical heritage, not because it made her uncomfortable, like she was ashamed of it, or because she was angry that he'd think her any different because of her upbringing, but because of its mention in front of a Slytherin, a pure-blood in a long line of muggle-born haters.

However, Hermione was unaware of Theodore's indifference towards any magical lineages, being a pure-blood himself put him in high regards with many discriminatory people within the magical community, but, much to his father's disgust, he would be as happy being a half-blood or even a muggle-born.

The Sorting Hat had placed him into Slytherin, back when he had just been introduced to the Wizarding world. All of his views had been shaped by his father and mother; there was no external influence on how he perceived other people. So to be sorted into a house within hours of meeting new people with abilities like his is such a foolish idea. The Sorting Hat saw into people's minds, not their hearts, nor did it see into the future. So the Sorting Hat saw the long line of pure-bloods before him, and the outraged, repulsive thoughts running through his mind at the idea of sharing a room with people like that and put him into Slytherin, where everyone else like him belonged. But within a week of attending classes and meeting new people (or as much meeting as Theodore could get), he realised there were muggle-borns and half-bloods exactly the same as he was, and there were those in Slytherin house that weren't like him, and soon enough he shed his upbringing, realising that it didn't matter. Theodore always wondered if there was a way of being resorted, yet never asked anyone out of fear of scrutiny. And so he remained in Slytherin, he wasn't disappointed with that, he only hated the prejudice tag that came with it.

"So, as we were saying," Slughorn said after his continued chatter with Hermione, "Ah, yes, I remember studying that book many a year ago now, and I'm yet to find a day that goes by where I'm not using a potion from that book, or a book just like it. So how is your father?"

Theodore didn't particularly want to talk about his father for obvious reasons, he also didn't want to stop talking about potions, so he just shrugged and said, "fine, I guess."

"Yes, I heard he got into some trouble, nothing I can help out with, can I? I know some quite high-uppers in the Ministry, you know, could give them a word." Slughorn gave an encouraging smile, hoping the young gentlemen would tell a great tale of how the rumours of his father being locked in Azkaban weren't true, that it had been a twist in the wind that caused the stories to be false. He hoped that one of the men he took interest in all those years ago would have become a great and influential man that he had invested his time and effort into. However, Slughorn did not keep his happy facade upon Theodore's news.

"If my mother and I couldn't talk him out of the things he did, I don't think the Ministry could either... sorry." Theodore looked out the misty window, watching as the lights of all the other compartments spilled out into the darkening surroundings, the vision of the green country side skewed by the mixture of fog and lightly sheeting rain.

Though gone unnoticed by Theodore who was too busy staring blankly out of the cold window, Slughorn's face betrayed his disappointment at losing not only Mr Nott from his long list of potentials, but also losing Theodore who he hoped may show considerable talent in his Slugclub.

"Yes, yes..." Slughorn placed his liquorice wand back into its brown paper bag, before turning to Hermione. "Now, I was wondering if you'd like to join me in the last compartment at the end of the train, I like to have little get-togethers and find out about the students, I call it the Slugclub." Distracted by his own laughter, Slughorn didn't notice Hermione looking sidelong at Theodore who returned the confused look.

"Sure..." Hermione answered, stretching out her reply so that she could he heard over the tail of Slughorn's self-induced laughter.

"Brilliant! I'll be there once the sun's set behind the fields."

Theodore's attention was drawn out the window to observe the position of the sun out of curiosity, meaning as Slughorn shuffled his way out of the compartment, his absence only becoming apparent to Theodore with the bang of the door sliding shut; Slughorn was not about to invite the son of a convicted Deatheater into a club containing the likes of Harry Potter. When Theodore looked back down at his book to continue studying the effects of a plant growth enhancer potion, he jumped slightly when he noticed Hermione still sitting there, who he had forgotten was even in the compartment.

"Sorry," Hermione apologised, shuffling more toward the door, "I-I'm just waiting for him to leave and," leaning toward to door to get a better view, "I can see he's stopped outside some Ravenclaw's door."

"That's alright," and the truth in his voice made Hermione think twice about the boy's muggle-born-hating reputation and give him the chance she never gave.

"So... do you like Potions?"

"I do," Theodore answered, still nervously looking at the words, but not understanding their meaning as he tried to ignore beating of his heart in his ears, trying to think of something to say before pushing the girl away completely.

All the while Hermione contemplated a range of questions that she hoped would invoke a more conversational answer, but eventually settled on, "Why Withering Weed?"

Theodore looked up from his book, glad to be given a second chance to act like a normal human. "Withering Weed grows well in rocky, wet conditions, and the property my home is built on has a river, and the weed grows between the river stones on the edge of the bank. We have a lot, so when I bought the book, it was either Withering Weed or Fur of Fire Ferrets, and we don't have any of those."

"You can buy Fire Ferret Fur in apothecaries, and they're not that hard to raise, they take care of themselves really."

Theodore contemplated that drop of wisdom, then decided he would buy the other book when he next visited Flourish and Blotts. "Do you like Potions?" Theodore inquired.

"As much as anyone else with such a bad tea-" Hermione stopped mid-sentence, realising, once again, who she was talking to. Much the Hermione's surprise, Thedore cracked the slightest of smiles at the normally well-mannered girls break in character. "... yeah." Hermione finished.

"I'm in Slytherin, yet his bias is neither here nor there with me; I don't think he notices me all that much so I don't get much help."

"Does that mean you're struggling?" Hermione felt sorry for the boy who obviously loved a subject that his teacher didn't encourage.

"No, I really just teach myself," he said, lifting the book off his knee slightly to draw attention to it, "I'm second behind you in the class."

Hermione was slightly stunned at the fact that a Slytherin boy she barely knew was second in _any_ class, and moreover she was stunned at the fact that she didn't really know where anyone else stood in any of her classes in terms of their marks.

"Well, it looks like Slughorn has moved on," Hermione observed before staning from her seat. Turning to say goodbye, Theodore had already immersed himself back into the book, slightly hunched over and swaying with the carriage of the train.

As the door slid closed, Theodore said goodbye, much to Hermione's pleasant surprise, who responded by waving through the window, a slight smile on her lips as the door clicked shut.


End file.
